


Fiddlefest!

by SioDymph



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, More tags to be added, wordcount varries each chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-11 23:19:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10476801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SioDymph/pseuds/SioDymph
Summary: This year March was the month of all things Fiddleford McGucket! So here's several prompts from each week!





	1. Parallel and Portal Fidds

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my goodness, I wanted to do this fan-month so badly but was up to my ears in school work, but now that that nightmare's over I plan to write for all the prompts each week I missed out on.
> 
> And since I felt about about missing out for the majority of this month I'm also opening requests until the 31st! Anything and everything Fiddleford! (non NSFW) I'm also will do ships if you like! 
> 
> In the meantime, I hope you enjoy these stories from all four weeks of Fiddlefest (or MarchGucket!)  
> (Sorry for any big or distracting spelling and grammar errors too :P)

Despite there being infinite realities, more numerous and vast than the human mind could ever hope to fully grasp, it seemed like Stanford Pines had an abnormally high probability of stumbling into this dimension.

The first time it happened Fiddleford had been utterly shocked. Who could have ever predicted that one of the first outer-dimensional beings he’d ever meet would be an alternate version of his own husband? It had been surprising, but very fascinating. When Fiddleford looked at him, he saw so much of his own Stanford in the man. Yet he also had these differences in his voice, the way he held himself, slight enough to nearly be missed and yet uncanny enough to fill Fiddleford’s mind with confusion. He did his best to help the wandering Stanford, healed him up, gave him some proper tools and weapons before he journeyed back out into the multiverse. And he considered the moment to be yet another strange yet exciting story he could now share about an unlikely, once-in-a-lifetime moment.

That was until it happened again. And again. It was like clockwork now, as soon as one Stanford left a few months later another would tumble through a dimensional tear. It was baffling, but over time it had become just another oddity that grew mundane the long Fiddleford worked here in Gravity Falls.

And while each one was clearly none other than Stanford Filbrick Pines, each one had their own unique quirks and variances. He found as he met more and more Stanfords he could begin to categorize them. There were badass action heroes, (or at least ones who tried to be bamf’s though they were still the nerdy man Fiddleford knew and loved under all the scars and leather get-up), the wide-eyed dorks who never seemed to lose their fascination with the world around them, the haunted ones who seemed obsessed with their faults and bill’s betrayal, Fiddleford had probably spent a good two years now, cataloguing every Stanford who came through. It was curious to observe in a person, how just one small change could make them entirely different Stanfords.

His Stanford never admit it, but he always knew the man wished he could meet his alternates. Talk to them face to face. But they both knew that it was far too dangerous. It was thought that seeing oneself could tear one’s mind to pieces, or tear apart reality entirely. And while it was not yet proven, Stanford and Fiddleford had no plans to find out the truth. So to ensure the safety of their dimension only Fiddleford communicated with the Stanfords.

While Fiddleford housed and helped each Stanford that came through he and his own Stanford began to piece together possible theories by looking over their own research as well as the stories of every Stanford who was willing to share.

Stanford thought it may possibly a connection between Stanfords. He pointed out how their existence seemed to constantly be pulled in and out of realities until they were back in the world they originally belonged to, or at least where their original tear formed. Perhaps due to their worlds being so similar the Stanford’s felt drawn to their world as a possible replacement for their old on and tried to unwillingly place them here.

Fiddleford agreed with some points as Stanford, though he felt it had less to do with their entire dimension and more to do with the portal they constructed together. That after they put their portal online, that’s what began acting as a false homing beacon for these Stanfords. Nearly every single Stanfords he talked to all admitted that Fiddleford’s portal was the only one they’d seen in stable condition and was properly protected from Bill. Granted the fact that he could only get the viewpoints of Stanfords banished out into the multiverse did skew Fiddleford’s information, but until he found a way to communicate with other Stanfords who never left their dimension this was the only information he had access to.

And from the information he’d gathered there was clearly a pattern. What he could do about it, Fiddleford still wasn’t sure. But he did know that if he and Stanford could clearly solve this strange problem, they just might discover more about how the universe and reality truly work.

One day when yet another dimensional tear formed, all flashing colors of hot pink and crimson red, Fiddleford prepared yet again for another encounter with a Stanford. Most were friendly, even happy to see him, at the least they had been civil, but a small handful had been delirious and violent so Fiddleford could never be too careful. Tranquilizer at the ready, he watched from a safe distance as the Stanford was thrown through the tear and fell to the ground. And behind him the tear healed back over and disappeared, like it never even happened.

Groaning, the figure pushed themselves off the ground and looked around at their new surroundings, no doubt lost or preparing for the worst. They were wearing hood, scarf and dark goggles so Fiddleford couldn’t see their face. But what he clearly saw was just how skinny the Stanford was. Never had Fiddleford seen a Stanford that thin and frail looking. Poor dear was looked starving. Fiddleford had plans to get the traveler on a healthy diet as soon as he introduced himself.

As the Stanford began pushing up their goggles to see better Fiddleford began to approach him. Relaxing his posture and making sure his voice was calm.

“Hello stranger, you just came to-” All at once his breath stopped short in his throat as the stranger pulled off his goggles and… he saw himself.

Fiddleford hurried to cover his eyes while he heard the other man yelp and do the same but he already knew it was too late. He just single-handedly destroyed the world. How could he have been so stupid! Cocky enough to think this pattern of Stanfords would just go on forever! And now look at what his assumptions cost! He felt frozen. Reality itself might be unraveling and it was all his fault. Oh god, what happened now? He might have cried if he wasn’t so panicked. His eyes were still covered but who knew what he’d see if he opened them again. If there would even be anything to see.

He waited, silence seeming to stretch time… but nothing happened.

Tentatively, he pulled his hands down from his eyes and slowly let his eyes open. Hoping beyond hope that he and Stanford had been wrong.

He was still in the laboratory, in a safe room they had set off for any arriving Stanfords. And still sitting on the ground was another Fiddleford. He was young, real young. Hair still golden brown, and Fiddleford knew he started greying as soon as he hit 29. He was looking up at Fiddleford with an equal amount of shock as Fiddleford was certain mirrored his face at the moment.

Then seeming to come back to life the younger Fidds pushed himself off the ground and started dusting himself off.

“Well, guess that’s one way to disprove a theory. Man, do I really get that grey?” He said, talking to himself like it was an inside joke before looking up to Fiddleford and realizing he was still there and could clearly hear him. “Oh no I’m sorry! That was awfully rude of me. Picked up a bad habit of blurting out whatever I think. And sorry to give ya, such a scare. I heard that if you ever saw yourself, it could rip apart time and space.”

Fiddleford tried to will himself to calm back down, as he spoke he could still feel his heart fluttering. “I- I’ve heard similar… But in this case I guess it’s much better to be wrong than right.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He said, looking around the lab shyly. “Nice place you got here… me? Um, would you mind telling me where I am, exactly?”

Oh! Trying to get back his composure Fiddleford started saying the lines he all but knew by heart, keeping his voice steady and calm, but still friendly. After the first several Stanfords he thought it would be smart to keep similar introductions with each one as to maintain some sort of control with all the different Stanfords who came through for. And while this wasn’t a Stanford he was still an alien lifeform from another dimension. “Of course, you are currently in Dimension C-524 and are in the McGucket Pines laboratory, in Gravity Falls Oregon. Planet Earth. Also it’s the summer of 2002 if that’s any use to you.”

“Thanks for that, cover’s about everything I wanted to know really.” He said before awkwardly extending his hand. “I’m Fiddleford. Not sure what my home dimension is, but it’s a pleasure to meet you. Sorry, felt weird not introducing myself, even though we’re kinda the same person.”

Fiddleford to the hand and shook it. “Oh not at all, don’t worry about that! And if you ask me, all the Fords I deal with are a sign, even though we might look the same I believe we’re our own people. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well!”

The Fiddleford perked up when he mentioned that. “Wait, what do you mean by other Fords?”

“I think we have a lot to discuss, we ca do it over some lunch? My treat. I can show you around too if you like.” While Fiddleford realized the younger man actually shared his beanpole body type, he still looked sickly thin.

“Well I ain’t one to turn down sincere southern hospitality!” Fidds said with a small chuckle.

Arm in arm Fiddleford guided his alternate self out of the room and into the halls of his impressive facility. Pointing out his favorite projects here and there and answering any questions Fidds had about the area. And when he was sure he wasn’t looking, Fiddleford pulled out his phone and texted his husband.

 

_Sugar, you can come out of the safe room. Also I just disproved two of our theories the ones where only Stanfords dimension hopping and the whole seeing-yourself-causes-the end-times concept._

_Please come to the cafeteria as soon as you can, I think you’ll want to meet our most recent guest._


	2. Memories/Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's week 2's prompt! This takes places during "Not What He Seems" when Fiddleford runs into the woods and finds the old bunker.
> 
> And just a reminder, I'm happy to take requests and I decided to change my cut off date from tomorrow to April 7th! (which is also when the Fiddlefest tumblr page will stop taking submissions as well.) So if you would like to, send any requests about Fiddleford my way!

There were still some pretty gaping holes in his memory but Fiddleford felt confident that he’d never felt to utterly terrified in his life. He sprinted through the woods like a mad man. Everything he owned and cared for was slung over one shoulder in a burlap sack and anything else he couldn’t carry with him had been left behind in the junkyard. Now his only objective was finding safety. Somewhere to hide. Somewhere he could think straight and find a solution to avoid the horrible oncoming destruction.

The only thing that terrified him more was the thought of what if he hadn’t fixed his laptop in time. What if he’d kept living in complete ignorance, unaware of the evil about to shake the earth, if he’d hadn’t realized just how close the end times where until it was far too late.

But he hadn’t. He had to keep reminding himself that. He had remembered how to fix his laptop, he found all his information on the gravity anomalies, and most importantly he’d found the countdown to the next colossal anomaly. It would be strong enough to lift up the entire town.

Gravity would fall. Earth would become sky.

Fiddle shook his head as he ran, as if it could dislodge the strange lines going through his mind. He still had no ties to where the words came from, but the words themselves had become a solid, defined memory themselves. But they kept repeating, over and over. A mantra. It was like he’d been branded by the words once he recalled them.

When gravity falls and earth becomes sky, fear the beast with just one eye. When gravity falls and earth becomes sky fear the beast with just one eye. When gravity falls and earth becomes sky fear the beast with just one eye… gravity will fall… the beast will rise…

The words made him ache in his chest. But he still needed to run. It wasn’t too late… It couldn’t be.

He’d been running for a while now he feared when he began he would get lost in the woods but it seemed like his feet were moving on their own. He didn’t consciously know where he was going yet but his body seemed to regain some sort of muscle memory? Or maybe an instinct? Either way something started going off in the back his mind saying he was almost there, wherever there was.

He wanted to keep going but his lungs felt like they were on fire and his legs felt tighter than iron coils. He needed to stop, just for a little bit to catch his breath again then he could be off. So gently setting his sack down so he didn’t hurt the missus and fell back against a tree. Only it didn’t make an ordinary sound. It made a metallic clunk.

That weird feeling in his chest stayed there as he spun around. The… thing he was leaning up again certainly looked like a normal, organic tree. But then he rapt his knuckles against it and there was that metal bang again. And all at once he felt slapped in the face with déjà vu.

He’d done this before. He’d done this hundreds of times before. He knew he did. It was coming back, he could see his hands, young hands, knock on the tree, opening a door on it. He could see himself welding and painting and crafting detailed ridges into the metal.

Oh my, he’d made this tree. Didn’t he?

There was such a familiarity about the thing. He knew he must have.

He drew his fingers all across the tree frame until he found a crease, and forcing his nails under he pulled at the crease and sure enough the creases were from a door and the whole thing finally opened. Inside was a dusty looking panel of buttons, dials and small levers.

No… none of these were right. He needed to find something… He remembered a bigger lever, something that took his whole body to yank to the side. He closed his eyes to concentrate more, will the faint memories he was picking back up to stay. The lever was definitely larger, and heavier. He had to use a whole lot of his upper arm strength from his childhood on the farm to move it. Wait no, that wasn’t right either.

Fiddleford groaned and slammed the metal tree door shut. Dagnabit! How was he supposed to figure out this stupid thing if he couldn’t even remember which lever and switch was which!

He forced himself to step away from the tree. Getting mad and throwing a fit wouldn’t help him get back his memories. And he didn’t have time to waste!

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes Fiddleford tried to recall the lever. Maybe if he couldn’t remember what it looked like exactly, he could try thinking of things around the lever. What had his other senses picked up way back when? The smell had been the woods, that was for certain. That rich dirt smell and strongly of pine. Not the musty stench from that inner compartment in the tree. Though maybe way back when he first built this thing, it didn’t have that must. He could feel that textured metal frame under his hands. And sunlight peeking through the trees fell onto his shoulders. So the lever had been outside the tree. He walked fully around the tree but he couldn’t see anything else suspicious or lever like.

He closed his eyes and thought over it again. It had been warm… And when he simply felt the air around him now, there was a slight chill about him. The woods, could darken easily the sun had to fight his way through the canopy of trees.

So maybe this lever was higher up.

He looked up towards the branches and there he saw it. About 3/4ths up the trunk there was one branch that sprout out a little below all the other branches. Only it didn’t look like it had sprouted, not natural at all. It was the same coloring as the metal panel too. And he knew he just found his lever.

But how to reach it? Maybe he something in his sack he could use.

He turned to go grab his bag when he realized it was a lot less full now. And when he pulled it open and looked inside his raccoon wife was gone.

He whipped his head around, scanning about the woods but he couldn’t find her.

“Gertrude?! Come on Gerdy-girl, where’d you run off to?” He shouted out into the woods. Had that been her name? He wasn’t sure he ever settle on one actually, now that he thought about it more. He started calling out other names to see if he’d get a response. “Fifi! Uhhh, Tilda? Kennedy!?... Jheselbraum!?”

Still no answer. Fiddleford felt worried but he reminded himself that his lil’ Suzy was a wild woman, she’d be alright on her own. But even then Fiddleford decided to leave out some of his scraps of sandwich meat and blackberries for her just in case she did stop by.

He still had this puzzle to figure out and looked back through his hastily packed bag. He didn’t see any rope, no grappling hook, not even wire. Fiddleford stroked his beard in thought. From outward appearance none of his stuff looked like any sort of climbing equipment but perhaps he could make something from the materials he did have. He was first drawn to the burlap sack itself and dumped all his stuff out of it and onto the ground. He could coil up the burlap, it was sturdy material. He’d been real happy when he found it first, he had it for a few years now and still hadn’t lost its durability yet. It wouldn’t be long enough for a rope, but maybe he could use it as a belt.

He found some old clips that could help fasten the burlap belt to his overalls, and he added a little bit of the lard he’d been saving to the other side of the belt that would be rubbing up and down the tree so it moved easily. Rubbing the grease of his fingers and readjusting his overalls one last time, he began his upwards climb up the tree.

On his way up he’d begin getting these brief little snippets of memories. Climbing up trees in an orchard with all his cousins and siblings. God, that must have been ages ago. He hadn’t talked to any of them in so long. They were picking fruit for… for Old Lady… Old Lady something. Darn, he couldn’t remember her name. But he remember her orchard, her warble but kind voice thanking them for helping her out. And he remember her homemade jam she give out to everyone during the holiday season. Her jams tasted great on anything and everything. Bread, biscuits, muffins, meatloaf, pork chops. His ma even used the old lady’s jams as a sweetener for her slow-cooked baked beans a few times as little family experiments. The apple jam beans had been Fiddleford’s favorite, sweet but then still tasted great combined with gravy, and the smoke and-

Fiddleford stopped himself in shock. He… he could actually truly remember his childhood on the farm. The house… the barn… All the animals and little critters… His family. It was actually coming back to him. It was slow, but it was truly happening. He was remembering. It hadn’t all been lost forever like he feared.

He felt like he about to cry when he realized he was still rather high off the ground now. And a fall at the height would be rather nasty, on top of that there wouldn’t be anyone around for miles so he really ought to be more careful. So keeping his breathing in order he continued making his way up the tree to the strange tree-lever.

The closer he got the more embarrassingly clear it became that the thing was fake. No branch would start growing out this low on a full grown tree. Luckily though it was so small and inconspicuous only someone who’s been around trees their whole life would have even noticed such an out-of-place thing like a tiny tree branch. Still though he had to give the young him credit for his craftsman ship, the twists and knots and false leaves had been carefully made with a patient hand and lots of hard-work. And when Fiddleford grabbed the lever and shoved it down, there was a bit of resist before the thing finally clanked down. Not too bad for over 30 years without use.

As soon as the lever went down the whole tree began to quake and shake. Wrapping his legs as snug as he could manage and pulling his belt taunt, he slid down the tree. He could hear a phantom memory in the back of his mind. A man calling for him to hurry down, strong arms helping pull him up when he tumbled onto the ground and away from the sinking tree.

When he hit the ground he pulled himself up and scrambled away from the tree instinctively. And he counted his lucky stars he had because as soon as he stepped away from the thing, the ground around the tree sunk down quickly, and stairs popped out from the trunk spiraling down. That could of hurt landing on those stairs.

It was strange watching the secret path reveal himself. All at once he was seeing happen now and yet he also could see it from years ago, exactly the same. This had truly been one of his great projects, a secret that hid near-perfectly in plain sight.

What that secret was he still wasn’t quite sure. But as he undid his homemade climbing belt and repacked his sack he could feel he was about to make some great leaps in recovering his memories. And with each step he took, down, down into this secret metal tree thing, he kept courage alive in his heart that things weren’t hopeless. He could do this. He could stop the oncoming destruction. He could protect the Pine’s kids. And he could find himself again too.


	3. Society of the Blind Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now for week 3, Fiddleford tracks down and tries to confront Blind Ivan, or Toot-Toot McBumbersnazzle as he prefers to go by now. 
> 
> And just a reminder, I'm happy to take requests all the way 'till April 7th! So if you would like to, send any of those requests my way!

It had taken several week but now after so much time he managed to track down Ivan.

He was following the Woodstick tour, sticking with them ever since Gravity Falls. He wasn’t listed as a performer but apparently he’d play music for anyone waiting around and willing to listen. Fiddleford found that out when he did some online research about Woodstick and found descriptions of Ivan scattered in everyone’s reviews. The next spot on the tour was set to be a small town near the Rocky Mountains, so Fiddleford made plans to attend the event too.

Stepping into the caravan of faded, woven cloth, hand-made beaded crafts and the stench of pot hanging in the air immediately took Fiddleford back to his younger days as a hippie. Flowers in his hair, writing ditties on his banjo about peace and enlightenment, designing giant dinosaur robots to overthrow the government. Those were the days…

It was also interesting to Fiddleford to see how they styles of hippies had transformed through the years, especially now as these “hipsters”, he hoped he was using the right terminology. Everything was still big on earthy, crunchy and free and their fun odd choices in wear still reflected that. But now it seemed like plaid was a much bigger element to the hipster look, that and knit wear and big boxy glasses rather than circular ones.

Fiddleford wandered through the crowds looking for any sign of Ivan’s tell-tale tattoos. He ended up hearing him before seeing him. He heard the twang of a banjo being plucked and then a voice that made mixed emotions swirl inside him. Ivan was singing a song to a small crowd of young hipsters. Fiddleford politely made his way through the people to get a better view and sure enough it was Ivan, sitting on a barrel and smiling as he played. He neared the end of his song.

_“And so I wander and play,_

_through the night and the day,_

_with a song from my heart to my boot._

_And while my head’s still unsure,_

_I don’t know what I’m for,_

_well, it’s all in the life of your good ol’Toot-Toot!”_

There was a small applause then everyone began making their way off. Ivan waved to them as they left, a happy absentminded smile on his face.

It was now or never. Fiddleford tried to swallow down his nervousness and made his way to Ivan.

“Hello handsome Old Man! What may I do for you today? Do you wish to hear more of my mystifying ministrations?” Ivan asked with a showman’s voice. He tried to play a cord but his fingers were misplaced and the sound that came out made Fiddleford grit his teeth. Ivan grumbled to himself, continually rearranging his fingers till he got the cord he wanted. “Damn, blasted thing… No. No… Eh, not what I was aiming for but it will work!”

“Actually, Ivan, I just wanted to talk.”

Ivan looked at him in confusion. “I’m sorry but my name isn’t Ivan. You must have me mistaken for someone else sir. My name is Toot-Toot McBumbersnazzle, traveling minstrel! And I- wait. I recognize you!”

“You do?” Fiddleford said. He wasn’t sure what to expect, what on earth could Ivan recall about a man he erased from his mind numerous times when he didn’t even know his own name?

“Yes, you’re the gentleman from the museum back in Oregon! I almost didn’t recognize you. You’re all dressed up now, and you trimmed your beard. It looks nice!”

Fiddleford couldn’t help but smile. Now that he could afford to he bought himself a full wardrobe filled with all the patterns and colors he’d loved when he was younger, and felt flattered to be complimented. “Aw shucks, that’s nice. Now do you remember anything else about me?”

“Well, let’s see.” Ivan stroked his chin, looking up in thought before looking back down and beaming at Fiddleford. “Of course! Your little granddaughter reminded me of my name and my life’s work!”

Fiddleford tried to think of gentlest way to try and correct Ivan he wanted to help the man but there was only so much he could do if the man was so deep in denial. “Actually, Mabel isn’t my granddaughter, I’m just a friend to her family. And-“

“Regardless I don’t know what I would have done without her! Please send her my thanks if you could. I don’t remember my past clearly, but I don’t think I’ve felt this happy in years!”

“How so, if you don’t mind me asking of course.”

“It’s wonderful! Everyone’s so kind, they’re always happy to be here. No one ever mocks me for my tattoos. They all said they make me ‘deep’ whatever that means. It so exciting being on the road all the time, I get to see new places every day. The music, the crowds, the festivity! I can’t quite place why but it’s like coming home!” As Ivan listed off things he was smiling, sincerely smiling. He’d never seen Ivan look quite like that, even when they were both young men just starting to erase their minds.

And while Ivan couldn’t place why he enjoyed being with Woodstick, Fiddleford could. He recalled how before he had persuaded Ivan to join his foolish cult Ivan had been a carnie performer. And apparently Woodstick now must remind him of his former life, even if he didn’t realize it yet. They both certainly sounded similar. Perhaps this concert tour might help trigger more memory recall for Ivan.

Fiddleford patted Ivan’s hand. “That certainly sounds nice.”

“Yes it has been.” Ivan agreed. He tried plucking a few more cords, frowning when they sounded sour. “Is there anything else you would like to know, sir?”

“You can call me Fiddleford and I have just one more question for you.”

“Ok Fiddleford, what is it?” Ivan parroted back. Fiddleford hoped he would actually remember his name. He knew how in his own experience having names to tie to places and faces made them much easier to relearn and recall.

“Eh, do you know how you got that banjo?” Fiddleford already knew it was his but he wanted to know if Ivan would recognize that too.

“I’ve always possessed it, that’s why it’s so worn and old now. And your gran- sorry your little family friend returned it to me. And I know how to play, I can see you judging me! I’m just a little rusty, that’s all.” Ivan ended slightly offended, as he tried to play a ditty to prove his point.

“Actually Ivan, if you don’t mind me saying, that banjo was mine first. It was one of Fiddleford’s.”

Fiddleford tried to speak gently but Ivan reeled back, possessively holding the banjo to his chest. “Stop calling me that! I’m not this Ivan, you keep bringing up. And I this banjo’s mine now, you can’t have it!”

Fiddleford stepped back. Giving Ivan more space. Shoot, things were going so well starting out. “I never meant to imply otherwise. I’m sorry. You’re free to keep the banjo, it is yours. I just wanted to let you know that Fiddleford, I had that banjo before. Fiddleford Hadron McGucket?”

“No!” All at once Ivan jumped off the barrel, glaring down at Fiddleford and for a moment he feared for himself. Had he gone too far? But then Ivan relaxed, though he still obviously looked distressed. He backed away from Fiddleford. Inching his way towards the crowd. “I… I have to get to my next gig over by the lemon grass shot tent. Have a nice day… _Fiddleford_.”

Fiddleford didn’t like how he spat his name, but if remembering how much he despised him before he overthrew him then maybe it would help trigger the rest of his memories. But there was still one last thing Fiddleford wanted to get off his chest before leaving.

He called after Ivan before he could disappear into the milling crowds. “Ivan! Toot-Toot wait!”

Fiddleford could see Ivan’s hand clutched into a fist, but the man still turned around. “Yes?”

“I just wanted to say, I’m real sorry.”

Ivan took the time to look him over, Fiddleford swore he saw a brief flash of recognition before Ivan lost it again. “Well, maybe if I knew what on earth you were talking about I’d be more inclined to forgive you. Or not, I have no idea who you even are. Goodbye Fiddleford.” He said stiffly.

Then turning around, he walked away. As he disappeared into the crowds of Hipsters, Fiddleford caught his stealing glance back at him and down at his banjo.

That didn’t go nearly as well as he’d hoped, but also not as disastrous as he feared.

Fiddleford hoped that the carnival like atmosphere here now paired with some of Fiddleford’s words just might help trigger more memories for Ivan.

The Society of the Blind Eye had been forged with good intentions. To make people happy, rid the town of its anxieties. But they had all abused the power of forgetting and all had paid the price. And now that Fiddleford was older and having met the Pines kids, he realized that memories, no matter how pleasant or unpleasant, all were important to make you truly you. And it never helped to hide the truth and live in mindless, happy ignorance. Now he could only hope his old colleague and friend might learn a similar lesson.

With that he wandered back towards a tent filled with metal sculptures that caught his eye earlier. He did want to head home but he might as well enjoy himself here at this festival, it was nice being out of the manor after all.


	4. Friendship/Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is my last prompt for Fiddleford's month! I just want to say real quick all the stories and art I've seen for this event have been so cool and amazing! Go check it all out on the official blog it you haven't already! (http://fiddleford-appreciation-month.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And one last reminder all day today and tomorrow I'm accepting any Fiddleford requests if you have them (I'm also happy to write any fiddauthor or fiddlestan if you like those ships!) After the 7th though I'm moving on!
> 
> Thank you so much fr reading all my stories for Marchgucket and I hope you enjoy this last addition!

Time seemed to be a fickle thing for Fiddleford McGucket. Years he spent without a memory sometimes only felt like it lasted a few months and now in his first year of remembering it felt like things went so painfully slowly. It might have been due to his recollection perhaps now that he had a stronger grip on time he was more conscious of it.

Or maybe it was because of how much he missed the Pines family. Just before leaving he and Stanford had admitted their feelings for one another still existed and now they were having a long-distance relationship over phones and screen monitors. Stanford and his brother, niece and nephew all promised to be back next summer and Fiddleford found he kept counting down the days no matter how much he tried not to. Today marked the final month before Stanford and Stanley would be back, and a month and a half until the kids came back. It was so close yet so far off.

He thought himself lucky at least, that he had so many people in his life now. To not only miss and know they would be back soon, but also living here with him and visiting all the time.

Every Sunday evening since last summer he’d always been invited down to the mystery shack for dinner and anime with Soos and his girlfriend, Melody. They made a sweet couple and ran the old mystery shack together as a team. And while Fiddleford didn’t often visit the Shack during their working day there was an energy, a welcoming vibe that grew there now that hadn’t really existed before under Stan’s ownership. As for their anime get-togethers, they had started a little pattern after a few happy accidents that had become a tradition now. Melody and Soos would make one half of their dinner and Fidds would bring the second half. If they made sandwiches, Fiddleford would whip up soup to dip’em in. They made meatballs, he’d bring over the spaghetti and sauce. One time they’d cook some pork chops and Fiddleford had brewed up an apple sauce to spread on it. That had been a good one. They’re weekly meet ups were always something he could look forwards to and enjoy. They reminded him a lot of the old family dinners he would have as a kid, potlucks where everyone cooked together and ate together.

Mabel’s two friends, Candy Chiu and Grenda Grendinator, also became frequent visitors. Both of them loved to admire his work with giant fighting robots, Candy had even told him she wished to become an engineer too when she grew up. Fiddleford had been all too happy to start teaching her everything he’d learned over the years. And Candy proved to be a wonderful student, a protégé actually. Her photographic memory was amazing to see in person, rewireing panels on her robot purely from memory of how Fiddleford had showed her over a week prior. And she had Grenda both had such wonderful, vivid imaginations it was never dull having a conversation with the two. There wasn’t a single doubt in Fiddleford’s mind that the two girls wouldn’t shake up the world when they got a little older, they had such amazing ideas and he couldn’t wait to see how they made their ideas possible realities in the future.

And then there was Tate. His dear lil’ Tate. He gotten some forgiveness from his son at last. They had a long talk face to face. It had been awkward, uncomfortable and made Fiddleford relive some shame he’d made himself forget for years. But it was an important step in them rebuilding their relationship, no matter how painful it might be. Talking came much easier for both of them the more they tried. And now he lived here in his new home, something which Fiddleford never could have dreamed of before and was grateful for. To truly have this second chance with his son. Tate had grown into a man that reminded him a lot of his own father and uncles growing up. Blunt but honest ad content with their crafts and tasks in life. Them with their farming and hunting, and now his son with his fishing. He loved going out to the lake and watching his son work, listening to him talk about fishing. It was no lie Tate loved what he did.

Tate would always be his son. But he’d found in a way he’d gained another child, almost like a granddaughter to him, as the year crawled by. He’d met her in the shack along with the other girls, held her hand during the Oddpocolypse. But afterwards, after that had bought the Manor from her father he hadn’t seen hat or hair of Pacifica Northwest. That was until one day while he was gardening on the front lawn he saw her milling about the front gate, attempting to spy on him. He invited her in for some tea which Pacifica had begrudgingly accepted. At first she claimed she was only “checking up to make sure he hadn’t burnt the mansion down to the ground yet.” Much to his surprise Pacifica came back for more teas after that, she’d even offered to help him in his garden. He only became worried when like clockwork as soon as the middle school was out she would be at his house and would put off leaving until the sun was in the brink of setting. He’d asked her once if her family was wondering where she was but she’d avoided the question, though she did admit she hated being home alone with either of her parents and she didn’t have any friends in town.

After that Fiddleford kept his home opened to her, though he did try to gently nudge her into at least joining a club at her school. That ended up not working so steadily he’d tried to introduce her to Candy and Grenda when one day all three of them ended up at his house one weekend. At first he’d feared he’d over stepped his bounds when she saw Pacifica grow defensive against the other two girls, walling herself off and putting up the snotty persona she seemed to put on and take off like a mask. But then the three found out the things they had in common rather then all the things that made them different and slowly but surely Pacifica pulled off her mask again and the three became an unlikely trio to visit his house and hang out around town.

One day they were all talking about boy bands and Fiddleford showed them the boyband he first fell in love with decades ago, the Beatles. At first the girls hadn’t believed him, Beatles were a cool hipster thing, not something for geek girls to freak out about according to them. So Fiddleford showed them he few relics from his Beatle-mania days and they’d found it absolutely hilarious. Grenda had joked that in a few years maybe Sev’ral Timez would be a musical revolution too. That had been a fun day, the four of them had tried tracking down the Sev’ral Timez boyband in the woods, they’d even recruited Wendy’s help in tracking them down.

They didn’t find the boyband that day, but instead they found two children who looked identical to Dipper Pines, only their caps had numbers on them instead of blue trees. They told him that they were photocopy clones of Dipper from last summer and the two boys had made a water proof shelter for themselves out in the wilderness. They joined in the hunt for the boyband and later Fiddleford had offered his home to the boys. He knew they were only brief flashes of Dipper’s consciousness, but it appeared that the two had developed their own awareness, something he couldn’t ever remember from his and Ford’s old experiments. They both even developed distinct personalities that had altered not only from eachother but also their original Dipper. He felt this urge to protect and care for the boys after that and the two became like adopted kids to him much like Pacifica had become.

The open halls had become much less empty and yawning now than when he’d first moved in with just a knapsack and his raccoon wife to his name. And now on the first Sunday in May he was holding a special Sunday anime dinner, this time in his own manor. In the theater room he recently renovated he was surrounded by friends and family he’d invited over. Excited happy voices all surrounded him and a warm plate of home-cooked food sat on his lap. He closed his eyes, feeling everything all around him.

He couldn’t wait for his boyfriend and his family to come back next month and get to feel this too.


End file.
